


Reward

by Janice_Lester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:04:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ralph spots Dean scanning the odd jobs board, and a bargain is made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reward

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "washing/cleaning" square of my second 2012 [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card. Features sex work. The setting is pre-series, with Dean somewhere between 19 and 22 (when Sam was in high school). Beta'd by [](http://vee-dub.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://vee-dub.livejournal.com/)vee_dub.

Ralph clambers out of May’s SUV just in time to admire the rumble-roar of a late 60s Chevy Impala pulling into the lot. Out pops a young man who is of a much more recent vintage but no less eye-catching. Leather jacket, jeans, air of purpose. A little scruffy, but Ralph has been teaching too long to think that any kind of character flaw.

May whistles as the man walks away. Now _that_ could be considered a character flaw, in some circles. He ducks down a little so he can see her face, her weathered, cheeky grin. “You behave yourself now, May Gertrude.”

She returns an insouciant salute, puts the car in reverse and gives him a look that says if he doesn’t get the damn door shut and haul ass he’s going to lose the other foot.

Ralph gets.

He’s a little surprised, once he’s made his slow, hobbling way up the long, unnecessarily winding path to his building, to find that very same young man standing in the lobby, perusing the odd jobs side of the student noticeboard. Now, this isn’t the smallest of community colleges, but all the same Ralph is sure he’d remember this one, if he’d ever seen him around. So he’s fairly confident that this is not, in fact, a student.

Perhaps, if he’d had more energy, he’d have gone straight to his office and done his resting there. But he’d deliberately left both cane and wheelchair at home today, on the theory that the only way he was ever going to learn to trust the new prosthetic was if he was obliged to rely on it a while.

In addition, having made it all this way without the cane, and without so much as a stumble even up the two steps to the heavy main door, he’s starting to feel he deserves some kind of reward.

So he approaches the young man. “Looking for a job?” he asks.

The man turns. The brief parking lot impression had not done him justice. He has green eyes and spiky, apparently product-free hair that makes a man want to run his fingers through it. And the slenderness had been illusory; though by no means bulky, this guy has some real muscle on him. All in all, handsome enough for two.

“Looking to hire someone?” Something in his tone, the faint hint of challenge in his voice, tells Ralph his admiring once-over had fallen short of discreet.

“I might be. You aren’t a student here?”

“Nope. My kid brother’s auditing a class, though. High school math bores him.” He shrugs as if this is just one more in a litany of inexplicable foibles he’s prepared to accept about someone he loves.

“Ah. I wouldn’t know him, then. I’m Ralph Simons, I teach comp lit.”

That merits a nose-wrinkle. “Uh, then I’m definitely not qualified to be your research assistant, Prof.” He makes a _brr_ noise, as if the idea chills him.

“Actually, I wondered if you’d be game to wash my car. I saw your Impala, a ‘68? I’ll take a wild guess you know how to treat a classic lady right.”

“Dean Winchester.” He offers a hand and a breathtaking smile. “And she’s a ‘67, but what lady objects to being taken for younger?”

Ralph holds the handshake maybe a little too long, because he gets that faintly wary look again. He lets go. “I’ll level with you, Dean. I got hit by a bus a couple years ago. Nearly died. Long, dark days. But I just got cleared to drive again, the physical therapist has me up on my brand new foot—” he points, but doesn’t dare wave it “—and things are looking up. I’m in a mood to celebrate. So how’d you feel about a hundred bucks to wash my car, wearing something skimpy?”

He’s pleased not to see any hint of desperation from Dean, just… assessment. He’s not in urgent need of money. He’s not in dire enough straights to compromise his decision-making. “I don’t do shorts,” he announces at last. “Pick a hot day, though, and I can totally do jeans and nothing else.”

Ralph tries not to grin too giddily. “Heard the weather forecast on the radio on my ride in. Saturday’s supposed to be all sunshine and 80 degrees.”

Dean slaps at his various pockets, comes up with a pen and a scrap of paper. Ralph provides his contact details.

“I know there’s more,” says Dean, right when Ralph would have expected him to be taking his leave, or turning back to the board to finish scanning the notices. “Might as well spit it out.” He looks to the left and right as though to check they’re not being overheard, raises his eyebrows at Ralph. “Worst that can happen is I say no.”

Ralph has the horrible suspicion that he might be blushing. Isn’t he too old to blush? Unfair. He does his best to ignore his embarrassment. Dean’s right. No pain, no gain. (They said that a lot in rehab, and he hated it, but it turned out to be true, as the length of time he’s been standing here, steady, unsupported, will testify.) “Okay, Dean. I don’t imagine for a second that I’m your type. I’m not even in your age bracket. But I’m guessing a young healthy guy like you can close your eyes and imagine up someone who is. I’ll make it two hundred if you let me suck you off afterwards.”

There. Said it. Out in the open.

Dean ponders, lips pursed. He doesn’t look happy, exactly, but nor does he look shocked. After a moment, he nods slowly. “If I don’t like it, I bolt. I still get paid for the carwash.”

“Of course. And tell whoever you want where you are, so you feel safe.”

Dean rolls his eyes at that, with all the assumed invulnerability of youth. He’ll learn. Gently, Ralph hopes.

“See you Saturday, Prof.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

And he is. With only the faintest hint of trepidation that comes of Karma having been screwing you over for the past three years.

***

By the time the knock on the door comes, Ralph has almost convinced himself that Dean won’t show. So his smile’s a little anxious when he opens the door and the man in question looks down at him. Which makes him feel weird, because he’s in his wheelchair, hasn’t strapped the foot on yet today, and Dean seems extremely tall from this angle. Also, it’s hard not to look where he shouldn’t when Dean’s crotch is more or less at eye level.

“Man,” Dean says, sounding not at all put out by the man he saw on two legs a few days ago being on four wheels now, “you could have told me you had a _Firebird_.”

“Would you have reduced your fee?”

Dean snorts. “No, but I’d have saved all that mirror-time I put in working out how not to look bored. Have you had her long?”

“Almost since the day she was born.”

“You realise I’m gonna have to wash my Baby after this, so she doesn’t get jealous?”

“You do a terrible job of making that sound like a hardship. Listen, there’s supplies in the shed—” He points. “I’m just gonna get my leg on, and then I’ll be right out.”

Dean shrugs. “Might as well be comfortable.” He turns and heads back down the ramp. Ralph can just make out what he’s muttering: “Firebird. _Firebird._ If you gotta have a pony, _that’s_ a pony…”

When Ralph heads out five minutes later, leg on but still in the wheelchair, Dean’s all set up with buckets and sponges, and is crouched down, talking softly to the car as he removes a bird spot from above the rear left wheel with a damp cloth. Ralph rolls easily down the ramp and onto the grass, chooses a spot to afford him a good view. Might as well maximise his enjoyment of the show.

And Dean, it would appear, is perfectly willing and able to put on _quite_ the show.

Oh, yes, he’s definitely going to enjoy this, even if Dean doesn’t stay for the encore.

The sun cooperates, emerging from behind a cloud to shine its brilliant beams down upon them. Dean detours briefly to his car for sunglasses, which he knocks only slightly askew in pulling his white t-shirt off over his head, turned just so to make Ralph feel like he has the best seat in the house. Dean’s body isn’t showy, it’s the lean muscle of hard work. And he has a confidence about him that’s quite appealing, even half-concealed as it is beneath unnecessary bravado. Ralph finds himself wondering where this kid’s been in his life, what he’s done. But actually finding out would probably just spoil it. Right now he’s a mystery, and a pleasant one to ponder. Knowing the bland truth, he’s sure, would make Dean less memorable. And Ralph wants to remember this.

***

“We can leave the door open,” Ralph says, leading a pretty-well soaked Dean inside, “you’ll feel safer.” It takes him a moment to realise that the odd half-choked sound from behind him is the audible expression of Dean’s incredulity—and it takes him a moment after _that_ to realise that, actually, this _is_ a potentially dangerous situation for him too. He doesn’t know this kid from Adam, and he’s not convinced that having the advantage in weight and experience is going to count for much against a healthy young man with two good feet under him. And yet his blood doesn’t run cold; it’s hard to be concerned at all. He’s just had a good feeling about Dean from the beginning.

He transfers onto the sofa while Dean politely averts his gaze, glancing without much interest at the various framed photos on the mantelpiece.

“You raced stock cars?” comes the sudden question.

“A couple of buddies did. I embraced my survival instincts. And my impressive ability to operate a wrench.” He points a little to the left, to a particular old black and white in a silver frame. “I built that one, more or less. It won a few races. But it was only ever a hobby.”

“That’s cool,” Dean says, fingers trailing over the frame’s glass like it holds something he wants. Then he shrugs, turns back Ralph’s way. Crosses the room, convincingly cocky. His nipples are tiny and tight, and Ralph wonders if he’s warm enough in here, away from the sun. He left his discarded clothing and so on outside with the car.

“No second thoughts?” Ralph has to ask, as Dean begins without any obvious hesitation to unbutton his jeans. He smells of suds, a little hint of sweat.

“Not yet.” Dean winces, apparently realising how that sounds. “Actually, right now I’m kinda… curious. Weird, huh?”

Ralph’s mouth twitches. He is hardly the man to ask.

Dean doesn’t lower his jeans much, just enough to shove his boxers down a ways and lift out his cock. It’s cut, it’s nice-looking, and, even better, it’s half-hard. Ralph curls a palm around Dean’s hip and isn’t rebuffed. There is, he thinks, a poetic simplicity about this whole arrangement. They each get something they want, and then they go their separate ways. There’s no potential for romantic feelings or second rounds. Just this, right now, today. Just this.

He looks up one last time, finds Dean watching him closely. In this light, it’s hard to make out the green in his eyes.

 _You’re beautiful,_ he thinks, and doesn’t say it. Perhaps not a word a straight man would want used to describe him. So he opens his mouth, but not to speak.

Dean makes a tiny, surprised sound as Ralph’s lips close around his glans, tongue teasing. He takes in a little more, begins to suck, gently at first.

It takes maybe a minute before Dean’s fully hard, and not long after that he takes up the unsubtle suggestions of Ralph’s hands and begins to rock his hips, easing his dick in and out, in and out, at the rate he prefers. Ralph hums happily, and then wonders if he shouldn’t. His is not a voice that could easily be mistaken for a woman’s, and he has no particular desire to shatter any carefully-wrought illusions.

It’s been a while, and it’s good, so good, even before Dean’s hand finds his shoulder, steadying him, and he _groans_ like he can’t keep it inside. Ralph draws back a little, focusing on the head so he can get his hands in play. Dean’s balls are large and pleasantly furred, and he reacts with an involuntary hip-swivel and a whimper when Ralph gently cups them. He wonders if Dean is staring at him, or standing there with his head thrown back and his eyelids pressed tightly shut. Doesn’t look up to find out.

It’s gratifying that when he sinks down low, taking Dean’s cock deep, he gets a mutter of startled pleasure in response. Perhaps he’s not _that_ out of practice, after all. He redoubles his efforts. Maybe it’s not just Dean who can prove memorable here.

“I’m gonna—”

Well, so much for any concerns they might have shared for Dean’s performance in these circumstances. Ralph draws back a little, sucks hard until he tastes come and then sucks some more for good measure. Dean makes this deep groan that slowly stutters itself into a sigh. Ralph does his sterling best to commit it to memory.

Afterwards, things lurch towards awkward once more, with Dean’s hands promptly shifting Ralph’s out of the way so he can tuck his dick back into concealment. They both start to speak at once—to say thank you, Ralph thinks—and promptly give up the attempt. Ralph settles for smiling and fishing out his wallet.

Their hands touch as Dean accepts his payment, and neither of them jumps.

“Take care of yourself, Dean.”

He gets another odd look for that, faintly puzzled. “I always do,” he says, firmly, like he needs Ralph to believe it. “Don’t get up. I’ll shut the door on my way out. You go easy on that Firebird, now, won’t you? You’re not the only one who’s been on the bench too long.”

And then he’s gone, leaving behind him the impression of a cocky smirk like the Cheshire Cat’s smile.

Five minutes later comes the roar of Dean’s Chevy starting up, heading for home. But by that time Ralph’s a bit busy working off some enjoyably-earned sexual tension, and can’t really spare the attention to appreciate it.

 

***END***


End file.
